


mud in the heart

by clachnaben



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clachnaben/pseuds/clachnaben
Summary: Ziyal has some good news for Kira, Kira disapproves of Garak
Relationships: Kira Nerys & Tora Ziyal
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	mud in the heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/gifts).



> This was written as a gift for Equality Auction 2020. Thank you so much to Enisy for making a really generous donation to a charity fighting for racial justice.

The Bajoran trade fair on the station was a nuisance in a lot of ways, but it had its benefits. Several vedeks had come to the station especially for the fair, and Kira enjoyed their presence at temple. She bought new material for her earring from a vendor, and otherwise enjoyed the hustle and bustle of hundreds of Bajorans trying to make their wares interesting for foreign buyers. 

She was passing through, on the way to Ops from her quarters and she paused in front of a stall hung with traditionally dyed Bajorans fabrics, fingering one of the lengths. Her quarters could do with a bit of sprucing up. Maybe she should buy a new hanging for the walls? The fair would be running for a few more days. She could ask Odo to come with her, maybe get his opinion on some of the fabrics. She could picture him scowling as he tried to understand what she liked and how the interests of “solids” never made any sense. They could bicker about it over a drink at Quark’s. She smiled, already looking forward to it. 

“Ah, Major,” said a familiar slimy voice, and she turned to see Garak, also admiring the fabrics, his hands behind his back. She tried to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Garak was a persistent thorn in the side of her, Sisko, Odo, just about everyone who ever tried to keep the station secure and, worse, she was never sure what side he was on. That unsettled her, and being unsettled made her annoyed, which made her angry.

“What do you want Garak?” she asked, a little snippily. Garak made an injured expression, so overly dramatic it was nearly comical. 

“I’m hurt, Major,” he said. “I merely wished to compliment your fine tastes. These are very well done textiles. I am considering a purchase of my own.”

Garak gave her the fucking creeps. Sometimes he’d talk just like Dukat and all she would want to do was punch him in his smug Cardassian face. She had to remind herself that he’d technically done nothing wrong. 

“Why would you want Bajoran textiles?” she snapped, but Garak’s placid expression didn’t twitch. 

“I do occasionally have Bajoran customers, Major. You are acquainted with M'Pella?” he said smoothly. 

“Isn’t she one of Quark’s dabo girls?” Kira asked. Garak inclined his head. 

“The same. Her sister is graduating from the Bajoran Academy of Science this summer. She is considering a dress for the happy occasion,” he said, with an ironic quirk to his lips. 

“That doesn’t mean I have to like you sneaking around the trade fair,” Kira said. Garak’s gaze on her unfocused over her shoulder, like he saw someone else. 

“I would hardly describe it as sneaking,” Garak said, but without any of his usual snark. Kira looked over her shoulder, trying to find what he was looking at, and saw Ziyal approaching them, smiling widely. 

“Nerys!” she said happily, already reaching out to take both of Kira’s hands in hers. “How are you?”

Kira gripped Ziyal’s hands tightly, and then hugged her, folding her into her arms. Ziyal fit perfectly, holding Kira back just as tightly, and then released. 

“I thought your trip to Bajor was supposed to last at least another week. Did something happen?” Kira asked, searching Ziyal’s face. Sometimes Ziyal tried to hide how hurt she was by whispered insults over her parentage. If someone had said something upsetting enough to send Ziyal back to the station, she might try to hide it. Ziyal only smiled, no hint of hurt in her eyes.

“Oh, nothing bad, don’t worry!” she said, her face sunny with optimism. “Actually, I have some great news. Would you like to come for dinner and I can tell you all about it?”

Kira glanced over at Garak, watching them with his eerily untroubled expression. Ziyal followed her gaze. 

“Don’t worry Major,” Garak said, catching the implication, inclining his head. “Ziyal and I spoke this morning. I wouldn’t dream of intruding on a private dinner.” 

“I told Garak about it over breakfast just after I arrived,” Ziyal said. “But I thought we could catch up properly.”

“Would it be in your quarters?” Kira asked, struggling to think of a more polite way to ask if her father would be there. Ziyal’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, her peacemaker smile that let Kira know she knew what she meant. 

“Just the two of us, I promise,” she said gently. Kira clasped one of her hands between two of hers, feeling her warmth through the scales. 

“I’d love to,” she said. “I’ll bring some springwine.”

“Perfect,” Ziyal said. Kira was just trying to think of a way to extract herself from having to interact with Garak when her communicator chirped. She hoped Ziyal didn’t notice her palpable relief. 

“This is Kira,” she said quickly, touching the badge. 

“Major, could you come to Ops please?” said Jadzia’s musical voice over the com. Kira looked at Ziyal apologetically. 

“Duty calls, Ziyal. I’ll see you tonight?” she said. Ziyal nodded. 

“Of course,” she said, and Kira tapped her badge. 

“I’m on my way Dax.”

&&&

Jadzia’s problem in Ops took up most of the rest of Kira’s shift, and she had to duck into the station’s tiny Bajoran specialty store in the last few minutes it was open and choose a springwine nearly at random. It was a shame; she knew Ziyal actually liked springwine. Kira didn’t particularly like drinking, it was just the gift you were supposed to bring with you to dinner with a friend. Well, Ziyal was nearly family, and family were supposed to forgive your poor taste in gifts and the fact you always showed up to dinner in uniform. She told herself that repeatedly on the way to Ziyal’s quarters, trying not to regret not changing. 

She knocked twice at the door to Ziyal’s quarters, and the doors sprung open, Ziyal already crossing the room. She was wearing a dark navy dress, in the Bajoran style without all the piping and shaping Cardassians preferred, and a grey shawl over it, and, when she reached out, her hands were cool and smooth in Kira’s own. 

“Thank you so much for coming, I’ve missed you,” Ziyal said, expressing herself as easily as breathing. All the hardship, and nothing had crushed her spirit. Kira loved her, like a younger sister or perhaps the daughter she had never allowed herself to have, but it was her indomitable spirit that she admired her for. Ziyal felt as strongly as she ever had. 

“I missed you too,” Kira said, holding Ziyal’s hands tightly and letting them drop. “Let’s eat, and you can tell me all about your trip. Did you go to the gallery at Tempasa I suggested?”

“Yes, it was so beautiful, I hadn’t seen any of the originals from Master Curek before,” she said, letting Kira sit down as she collected food from the replicator. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

Kira poured them springwine, and water, still tasting faintly metallic from the chief’s new filtration updates, and let Ziyal lead the conversation. They talked about the art Ziyal had seen on her trip, social events on the station, gossip about Kira’s colleagues, and ate Ziyal’s food, mostly Bajoran food she knew Kira preferred. Kira only sipped the springwine. She’d spent half her life either on the run, undercover or on duty. She’d never really developed a head for alcohol.

“What was it you want to tell me about?” she asked, after they’d exhausted all their normal topics. “Are you alright?”

Ziyal’s smile was sunny. 

“It’s good news,” she said. “Some of my work’s been selected for the art show concluding the trade fair. I’ve been invited to present them at the closing ceremony.” 

“Oh, Ziyal, that’s great news!” Kira said, laying a hand on top of Ziyal’s on the table. “Congratulations!”

Ziyal’s happiness was so perfectly shadowless, without a single edge of darkness, it felt uplifting just to see her feel it. 

“Thank you Nerys,” she said, and was still smiling when she sipped her springwine. “I’m hoping the trade fair means more events like that will come to the station. I’d like to be based here permanently.”

“Are you sure?” Kira asked, leaning back to look at Ziyal’s face. “I’m sure there would be more opportunities on Bajor.”

Ziyal’s smile didn’t fade, but it did get slightly more fixed, like she was holding it deliberately in place. 

“I like it here,” she said, more quietly. “Garak says he thinks I can be perfectly sufficient as an artist on the station.”

Kira frowned. It was hard for her to recognise that Ziyal’s life would not be easy, when Kira wanted nothing more than for it to be easy and free, for Ziyal to have every piece of ease and joy she deserved. 

“I don’t know if Garak is who you want to model yourself after,” she said, trying not to sound too stern. She tried not to pry too much, because she understood the idea of wanting to be friends with people your parents didn’t approve of, even if she’d never experienced it. Her romantic exploits had been mostly with fellow members of the resistance, and, at that point, her parents had been dead. There had been no one to reproach her, for her relationships or her life. It had been a kind of freedom, but she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. 

Ziyal bit her lip nervously, and set her glass on the table. 

“He’s honest with me, Nerys,” she said gently. Ziyal didn’t have much of a temper at all, but that didn’t mean she’d back down from a disagreement. Kira just wished their disagreements weren’t usually Ziyal defending men who didn’t deserve her generous spirit. 

“Ziyal, Garak doesn’t have an honest bone in his body,” Kira said. “I don’t want you being taken advantage of.”

“It’s not like that at all,” Ziyal said. “Garak’s just a friend. He understands.”

“What do you mean?” Kira asked, trying not to argue. She didn’t think Garak could understand anything about other people, except maybe how to spy on them. 

“Garak will probably never go back to Cardassia. He's an exile,” Ziyal said. “In a way, so am I.”

Kira’s heart sank, and she felt petty, just for a moment. 

“Oh, Ziyal,” she said, feeling the pain in her chest like it was real. What had Ziyal done, to deserve a universe that would judge her for her father’s cruelty, and not the purity of her smile? Kira would pray to the Prophets every day, if it could spare Ziyal even a moment of pain. 

“Bajor isn’t my home either,” Ziyal said, looking down, her fingers tracing a random pattern on the top of the table. “I couldn’t live there. I’d be expected to wear an earring, go to temple every week. I’d have to disavow my father and call my mother a traitor. And it would be no better on Cardassia. I’d have to pretend my mother never existed, and ignore every horrible thing my father has done.”

She paused, and looked up. 

“Nerys, only here am I both parts of myself,” she said. “This is my home.”

Kira reached out and took Ziyal’s hand. Her heart hurt. 

“You’ll always be welcome here,” she said. “If I have anything to say about it.”

Ziyal blinked, visibly overcome with emotion, and squeezed Kira’s hand. 

“I know,” she said thickly. “I know Nerys.”

Kira did not think of herself as naturally expressive. She’d been burned by years of losing people, but she tried every day to make extending the hand of love to others easy. She had seen men and women in the resistance, so used to losing, to pain and suffering, that they shut themselves off from everyone, from any attempts at love, at family, at peace. Kira prayed the Prophets would give her the strength to never be like that. 

Ziyal blinked again, and Kira just opened her arms and they hugged, bent over in their chairs, not caring, just comforting each other. 

&&&

Kira managed to convince Odo to come with her to the art show at the end of the week, when they both got off their shifts. He complained and muttered about it for a few minutes, but she let him get it out of his system and they had a drink at Quark’s and wandered over together, gossiping about mutual acquaintances and station social life. Odo’s familiar odd smile, the hidden gem of his good humour, was always enough to make her feel warmed through. Making him laugh was like winning a prize. 

He let her lead him around the displays, making “hhrmph” sounds while she admired the art. He didn’t really understand it, but was happy she enjoyed it. Kira knew she was lucky in her friends. 

Ziyal’s art was displayed in pride of place, at the centre of the show, and she was nearly shining with pride, her happy smile turned on anyone who had a question. She was in her element, debating different schools of thought on icon painting or gesturing the shape of a brush stroke. Kira was happy to hang back and watch her, soaking up the praise and acknowledgement of her work. Half the station was probably there, mingling and enjoying a rare day of celebration. 

Kira was looking at a beautiful icon of Bajoran lilacs, and thinking about whether she had space for it in her quarters, when Odo made a suspicious noise that made her turn around. 

“What is it?” she asked, and Odo raised an eyebrow, looking over at Ziyal. 

“I can’t say I approve of Ziyal’s friends,” he said slowly. Kira peered over, trying to figure out what he meant. She could see Julian’s distinctive shoulders, a few inches taller than a lot of the crowd. 

“What do you mean, are you talking about Bashir?” she said, and then she saw Garak over Julian’s shoulder, giving Ziyal an exaggerated bow over her hand while she smiled. “Oh, I see,” she said. 

“Precisely,” Odo said, and his tone hadn’t changed at all but Kira knew immediately what he meant. She was so grateful for him all the time. 

“It’s none of my business,” she said. “Ziyal says they understand each other.”

Odo didn’t even _have_ a respiratory system, but he still managed to sniff disapprovingly. Kira smiled. She could always rely on Odo’s opinion of others to make sense to her. 

“Look, let’s go over,” she said. “I want you to see Ziyal’s art, and you can look at Garak and act grim. Maybe it’ll scare him off.”

“That hasn’t worked to date,” Odo said, grumbling, but followed her when she went over. Ziyal hugged her, and looked embarrassed when Kira congratulated her again, and Odo managed a single terse sentence of well-wishes, practically a parade by his standards. 

“I didn’t know you were interested in Bajoran art, Dr. Bashir,” Odo said, and Bashir’s expression passed through confusion and excitement quickly. 

“Oh, I’m not,” he said, and then ducked his head in Ziyal’s direction. “No offense to artists present. But Garak suggested he could show me around and make sure I didn’t embarrass myself too much.”

His gaze flickered over to Garak, and then back to Ziyal, keeping his happy expression the whole time. Garak didn’t seem to react at all, except for the slow, almost-imperceptible blink of his inner eyelids. Kira didn’t think Bashir or Ziyal would even notice it, but she’d been living in close proximity with Cardassians her entire life, painfully attuned to their moods. Garak was reacting to something. Bashir was getting Ziyal to explain her display pieces, asking questions about brush strokes and meaning, and he didn’t notice when Kira looked between him and Garak, and then, meeting Garak’s eyes, raised an eyebrow. 

Garak’s calm, untroubled expression didn’t twitch at all. He was very good, except for the slightest flare of his nostrils. She smiled, and shrugged. It wasn’t any of her business. But Garak took so much obvious pleasure in making other people squirm, it was a little fun to toy with him back. 

Garak inclined his head, barely an inch of movement. 

“I am very impressed by Ziyal’s work,” he said. “It is right she is receiving the recognition she deserves.”

“You know what?” Kira said, looking at him. “I agree with you. Never thought I’d say that.”

Garak smiled. 

“You have excellent taste, Major. I’m honoured to be agreed with, in this _specific_ instance, of course.”

“Of course,” Kira said back, smiling a little.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Fear of Poplars_ \- Amanda Lamarche
> 
> You know that sadness grows a willow.  
> Fear grows a birch, white-ringed and nude
> 
> in the forests. But a poplar, there is no  
> mud in the heart to grow a poplar. It is
> 
> of some other family. It plants itself,  
> does not touch the next. Each is a child
> 
> that wants to be picked up by the arms,  
> by whatever made it; has not spent
> 
> a day in its life looking down. A poplar  
> will not know a bit of what you look like.


End file.
